USUK Calendar Series
by Black.Rose.Authoress
Summary: A collection of USUK one-shots... In which Alfred and Arthur are alternately royalty, pirates, earth spirits, mages, and others. Usually hopelessly crushing on each other, though.
1. April 4th

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! So this story is a bit different than anything I've done before. So some time last year I was approached (I think, or maybe I volunteered, it was a long time ago) about being involved in a little project over on tumblr. Wherein there would be a story written everyday for an entire year, each about 1000 words and each a USUK fic. You can find those stories over at 365daysofusuk on tumblr. Check them out. I think they still may need some submissions, so if you're inclined, maybe help them out. ;D

So, now that my stories have all been revealed for the year, I figured I'd post them here so everyone can read them. :) And so they can be found later and not lost in the tumblr abyss.

Hmm, that's about it for introduction. These are all USUK stories, obviously. I tried to go with AU ideas that I don't see super often for most of them. I won't be putting intros or Authoress Notes on any of them since I'm just gonna upload them all today. So read/enjoy. Please review to let me know what you think! *kisses*

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><p><strong>April 4th<strong>

It was stupidly simple to sneak his way inside the palace. The guards were distracted this evening by carriages filled with bejeweled royalty, their roles checking invitations and watching the guests' servants with eyes like hawks. It had taken very little effort to climb up the garden wall, just as he had hundreds of times as a child, and drop down into the bushes where his brother, Mattie, had dumped his clothes for tonight.

Alfred would have kept his brother in the dark about tonight, but he needed someone on the inside and Mattie had been working in the royal kitchens for years now. He'd been worried and panicky when Alfred had told him about his plan. He'd paced the tiny room that served as their home and told him that he'd be imprisoned—possibly even executed—if he were caught sneaking into the king's private masquerade. Was he seriously willing to risk his life?

That question nestled in the back of his mind as he strolled down the hallway, dressed in stolen finery. He'd felt terrible throughout the theft, but it had been a necessary dishonesty, and now he blended in seamlessly with the masked nobility.

There was music mixed with laughter and chatter, drifting through the hallways from the ballroom that he knew was ahead. His heart pounded, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. And a slight fear that he _would _be caught.

But it was worth the risk. He breathed in deeply and then reached up once more to check that his mask covered his face before he stepped inside the crowded room.

Extravagantly-costumed figures, each with a face covered by an exorbitant mask, whipped by in a never-ending dance. He caught a few eyes and flashed their owners his friendliest smiles, but he moved by without exchanging pleasantries. He was here for one reason and one reason alone.

And there he was. His majesty, leaning against a wall with one of his arms resting against his stomach; the other held an almost empty wine glass, which he lifted to his lips and now drained. His face was hidden behind a green, beautifully-decorated mask, but Alfred would have known him from miles away. Alfred also knew that their king was probably scowling to himself, as cranky and anti-social as ever.

The guards, each masked but more heavily-armed than any actual reveler, watched as he approached their ruler but made no move to stop him. The king himself straightened from his slouch against the wall and motioned with a finger for a servant to take his empty glass.

Alfred stopped a few feet away and lowered himself into a deep, reverent bow. "Your majesty." He half-expected somebody's sword to come down across the back of his neck; he was incredibly relieved when it didn't. "I wondered if we might share a dance tonight, your highness."

Mattie was probably right that he was an idiot to do this, but this was his only chance now to speak with and touch the man that he'd loved for years… He'd fallen for him when they were still children, back when Alfred would climb over the palace's garden wall to play with the young prince after he snuck away from his nanny and tutors. Before his father had died unexpectedly and he'd suddenly been thrust into a king's role. Back when Alfred knew him simply as _Arthur_, instead of _your highness._

He was actually rather surprised when he heard a sound like a snort from the king and then, "Fine."

And that was all the answer Alfred needed. He jerked up straight and then moved forward and grasped Arthur's hand, yanking him away from the wall and toward where other couples were dancing. Arthur made a rather surprised yelp-like noise at the manhandling, but followed.

Some of the other pairs sent them rather amazed looks, but no one dared comment. Even if it was practically unheard of for the king to dance in public, especially with a stranger.

Alfred couldn't stop his lips from stretching in a maniac's happy grin as he stopped and turned toward Arthur, who settled a hand on his hip and began move them in time with the music.

He stared past the mask, into the familiar green eyes from his childhood. They were more tired, but still held that fierce stubbornness and intelligence that had always been defining aspects of Arthur's personality.

They danced for a long while without words, through a full song and half of another, before Arthur finally asked, "I know you from somewhere."

Alfred wasn't sure how to respond, whether it would be smarter to reveal his identity or pretend to be someone else for the night, so he just smiled at the other.

Who scowled in response before poking at Alfred's mask. "I hate these bloody things. They look idiotic."

"I like yours." Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand and was overjoyed when his cheeks flushed slightly and then he felt an answering pressure. "So, are you enjoying your party?"

Arthur snorted. "Hardly. It was my bloody advisors' idea." He continued to stare at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm sure I know you from somewhere."

It wasn't surprising that he was confused. Alfred had shot up and gained plenty of muscle since he'd last seen Arthur.

They continued to dance and Alfred watched delightedly as the tension slowly left Arthur's face. And there was nothing that he wanted to do more than stay there, dancing with the other all night, but people were staring and whispering… So he took a step backwards and bowed again. "I shouldn't steal you away from your subjects, your highness." And then, softer so that only Arthur could here, "Little Artie."

He saw the recognition dawn in Arthur's eyes and his mouth form the word, "Alfred," before he turned and gracefully made his way through the watching crowd.

And while he sharply felt the disappointment of leaving, he had already vowed that he would return and see the man he loved again. So he smiled as he walked away.


	2. June 10th

**June 10th**

Alfred Jones, just turned sixteen-years-old, was slogging his way through a marsh. He was _soaked_ from his waist all the way down to his ruined boots, he was covered in mud and other slimy gunk, and he was shivering convulsively every few seconds. But he wasn't going to let any of that get him down, because today was the day he'd been looking forward to for the past ten years of his life.

The day when he would finally meet his mentor: the one who would take him from the totally average magic-user he was today and turn him into a super-powered, incredible, expert mage.

It would be nice if his mentor wasn't hiding in the middle of a swamp, though. Headmaster Roma had gone through the process of finding a mentor in one of his 'Introduction to Advanced Magic' lectures. The main thing to remember, he'd said, was that _you _didn't find your mentor. Your mentor found _you! _You'd get a vague _feeling _that would usually lead you toward them, but it was ultimately up to them to reveal themselves. Some people (his brother) got lucky and would be sitting in the cafeteria when _poof_, a flaming ball of light would appear in front of them and announce 'I am your new mentor; now give me those French fries'.

Alfred had brought some French fries with him, just in case. Although he wasn't sure that they'd be any good after this swamp trek.

He'd been insanely excited this morning; he'd just turned sixteen yesterday and everyone knew that you were destined to meet your mentor with a couple days of your sixteenth birthday. So when he'd felt that twinge in his head, like someone had whispered 'go to the marsh behind the stables' in his ear, he'd immediately jumped out of his seat in the middle of class, gave a war-whoop, and ran out without a second thought.

Now he was starting to feel that excitement wane a tiny bit as he glanced up toward the rapidly darkening sky. Everyone knew that all sorts of night-loving monsters lived in the swamps and forests surrounding the school.

"Yo, um, is anybody out here?" he called, wrapping his arms around himself as he searched the surrounding trees for any signs of life. "My name's Alfred Jones. I'm supposed to be meeting my mentor?"

"Your mentor is still trying to decide whether they want to meet you, however. Has anyone ever told you that your haircut is absolutely atrocious from above?"

Alfred just barely managed to keep from falling onto his ass as he jumped in surprise. He spun around and then hurriedly lifted his head toward the sky. And met the eyes of a man sitting high above him, sitting on a branch that didn't look like it should be able to support his weight.

The man's eyebrows rose, as if asking what the problem was and then he stood, the branch not even bending beneath him. "So, _you_ are the infamous Alfred F. Jones. And you consider yourself to be worthy to be taught by _me_, the god of this land?"

"Yeah!" Alfred dug in his pockets and pulled out a handful of slightly-squished French fries. "I brought some French fries!"

The god stared at him for a long moment and then Alfred was knocked off balance as something beneath his feet shifted. He fought to keep himself upright, his arms flailing, but something else moved underfoot and he splashed down in the filthy water.

"Dude!" He spluttered as the god took a step off the branch and _slowly _levitated toward the ground. "You could just _say _you don't like French fries."

"You're an arrogant twat." He landed beside Alfred and the water actually parted around his feet as he stepped forward and then leaned right into his face. "The only reason I've agreed to teach one of you stupid, hormonal _humans _is because it's the only way to make sure you learn to actually respectour earth and your magic."

Alfred grinned. You know, from this distance he could actually tell that the god was pretty cute. Just look past the grouchy exterior. "And because you and I have an undeniable bond that can never be broken! We learned about the bond between mage and their mentor spirit in Advanced Magic." He thrust out his now filth-covered hand. "Alfred F. Jones, at your service. And what's your name?"

The god's scowl just deepened and then he sniffed and took a few steps away. "My true identity is beyond your human comprehension. You may call me Arthur."

An appropriately stuffy name for a stuffy god. "Great." Alfred pushed himself out of the muck and then pointed toward the god and sent him one of his famous hero grins. "Wait 'til I show you what I'm made of. Someday I'm gonna be the most amazing mage this world has ever seen. You aren't gonna regret being _my _mentor."

He thought he caught a glimpse of a tiny grin before it disappeared behind the usual scowl. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and snorted. "We'll see about that, Alfred Jones."


	3. August 21st

**August 21st**

"I swear, Arthur, if you don't at least _talk _to him today, I will be forced to do something _drastic_."

Arthur _wasn't_ crazy. Everyone believed that he was: his parents, his doctors, counselors, and psychiatrists. But he _wasn't_. He had just been born unlucky.

He was trying to ignore the manifestation of that unluckiness right now, as he scowled down at the rental, probably horribly unhygienic roller-skate that he was attempting to lace onto his foot.

An annoyed sigh came from over his shoulder and then, "Let me do it. He'll have finished his shift by the time you get those on."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but lifted his hands from the laces and watched as they began to move—to anyone else it would have seemed to happen by themselves. They twisted around each other, tightening, and finally laced themselves up with an overly-flamboyant bow. He snorted, but didn't speak as he used a chair to pull himself to his feet.

He hated roller-skating, and yet he'd been coming to this rink every weekend for the past two months. His initial reason for coming here had been to simply get his parents off his back. They always told him that he should go out more, spend time with other (read: normal) people. He shouldn't lock himself up in his room with his books all day. His mother had even started leaving brochures for places to visit around town in strategic places around the house.

What had really pushed him to finally go out, though, was _Francis's _constant whining that he was bored, and just because he was dead didn't mean he wanted to spend all his time cooped up.

Arthur had finally agreed to go to the roller rink, which had just happened to be the brochure he was looking at when his parents' needling and Francis's whining finally grew to be too much. And he'd hated it, of course. Falling on his ass constantly, having to cling to the railing surrounding the rink while five-year-olds whizzed by… He'd just made a promise to himself to never come back when he laid eyes on _him._

"Now, come on! Do not be such a coward!" Francis was pushing at his shoulders, trying to move him toward where _he _was standing.

"Quit it, Francis," he hissed under his breath, attempting to dig his feet into the carpet. Which would have been a million times easier if he weren't wearing roller skates, and if the person pushing him wasn't a supernatural entity who was unfortunately much stronger than a normal human being.

He held out for a few long moments, but then he had to give up and ended up stumble-rolling toward the snack bar.

Where _he _was squirting cheese on a plate of nachos and grinning to himself as he hummed some god-awful pop song under his breath. He turned and handed the plate to the two girls who had been standing there with a "Hope you enjoy 'em!"

And then he turned toward Arthur with a disarming smile. "What can I get ya?"

Alfred—at least, that's what his nametag read—was probably the most gorgeous guy that Arthur had ever laid eyes on. He was also the sole reason why Arthur suffered through this indignity every weekend.

Usually he just skated around a couple times and then stood quietly in the corner, watching Alfred as he worked the snack bar. But Francis had been getting annoyed recently by his 'mooning' and had been pushing and pushing Arthur to actually ask the guy out.

Now, Francis whispered in his ear, "You can always say 'you'."

"Shut up." And shit. He wanted to yank the words out of the air as soon as they left his mouth, because he _definitely_ hadn't meant to say that out loud. Alfred's eyebrows rose in surprise and Arthur immediately panicked, "No, not you! I was just…I was… I was talking to myself. I…I just… I'll just have a soda."

Francis was laughing at him. Arthur really wished, not for the first time in his life, that his constant companion had an actual throat. So he could fucking _strangle_ him.

Alfred's eyebrows rose even higher for a moment, but then he smiled again—and dimples appeared when he smiled, which was a detail Arthur really wished he hadn't noticed. "Dude, you don't have to be so nervous. What kinda soda do you want?"

Arthur's mind was drawing a blank. Francis's voice came again, "Just say a root beer. I hope that I don't actually have to guide you through _everything_."

He managed to keep from responding to that one and just said, "Root beer." Probably a little too firmly.

Alfred just grinned again, though, and then turned to dispense the root beer. Giving Arthur a nice view of his backside.

"What I would do for a body," Francis sighed. And Arthur couldn't really argue with him.

"So," Alfred said when he turned back, "You come here a lot, right?" He set the root beer on the counter and Arthur was pretty sure he hadn't meant to order that large of a size. "I see you pretty much every week. You really like roller skating?"

"Um…" He wasn't sure how to answer that. "I guess?"

"'Cause I kind of noticed that you're pretty terrible." His grin widened as Arthur flushed. "You know, if you ever wanted help, I'm pretty good at skating. I could always give you some pointers if you wanted to come after my shift is over."

And Arthur felt his heart stop dead.

Until a finger poked the back of his skull. _Hard. _"Say _yes _or I'll dump that soda all over you."

"Ye—that would be fine." He tried to sound calm, but his voice squeaked a bit on the last word.

Alfred didn't comment, thankfully. "Great! I'm done at six, so I'll see ya then! Oh," and he pushed the soda across the counter to him with a wink that made Arthur's heart flutter like a spastic butterfly, "This one's on the house."

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><p>AN: I do want to make a note, since I believe in giving credit where credit is due. This story's basic premise (the whole ghosty being attached to him) was taken from the video games Beyond Two Souls. :) Which is a pretty fabulous game. Check it out if you'd like.


	4. September 19th

**September 19th: Talk Like a Pirate Day**

He's been blindfolded. And his arms have been wrenched around what he can feel is a ship's mast, his wrists bound tightly together with rope that bites into his skin. He isn't sure how long he's been sitting here, gritting his teeth together in an attempt to fight back the natural urge to shout at his captors. They've already threatened to gag him once already.

He's listening as carefully as possible. People are walking around him, although no one seems to be paying him much mind. He'd guess that there's probably someone sitting nearby to guard him, but nobody else stops or slows near him.

Until this exact moment. He lifts his head at the differing sound, the thud of heavier footsteps and a sort of jingling that grows louder until it stops right in front of him.

"Alfred F. Jones." The voice is authoritative and Alfred can guess without seeing that _this_ must be the captain of the ship he's been spirited onto. "Prizefighter extraordinaire. What does the 'F' stand for?"

"Don't know, sir." He manages to keep his voice light. "My mama never told me."

The captain doesn't respond for a moment, then his whatever-it-was jingled again and there's the sound of clothing rustling before the voice came from much closer, "Do you know why I ordered my men to bring you aboard my ship, Alfred F. Jones?"

Nope, he honestly has no idea. And he's pretty pissed about it.

He suddenly feels something metal and extremely cold brush against his cheek, almost like a lover's caress. Then it's flicked back and the blindfold falls away from his eyes.

And he's half-blinded by the sun. He has to blink a few times to focus on the face in front of him.

The guy looks young for a pirate captain is the first thought that goes through his mind. And he knows that this guy is a pirate captain, because that's the only thing he could possibly be with that hat. Plus his crew had kind of kidnapped Alfred while he was walking from his last match of the night, so pirate it was. He looks like he's only in his early-twenties or so. With the biggest, blondest eyebrows that Alfred has ever seen in his life.

"No idea, sir," Alfred responds, still keeping his tone nonchalant. "Nobody thought to explain it to me before they tried grabbing me."

The only reason they'd succeeded in grabbing him was because one of them had cracked him across the back of the head with something hard, _painful_, and metallic. And that had been after he'd already taken out five guys, most of them armed.

"It is because I am a collector. And I collect only the best." His voice is kind of creepily soothing, if that makes any sense. He grins, though, and his grin pretty plainly states that this guy is _insane_. "And you, my dear Alfred F. Jones, managed to defeat my best fighter."

Alfred has no idea what he's talking about, but he's pretty sure that he's pretty much _fucked._


	5. November 12th

**November 12th**

Arthur hates people. He really fucking hates people.

Like asshole people who park in the handicap spots, leaving him with nowhere to park his van. He's had to crawl out of the passenger's side of his van multiple times because of assholes like that. Or people who stand across the parking lot, clearly see him fall out of his chair, and don't come over to help him. He really really hates those people.

The guy's staring at him and smoking a cigarette while he's struggling in the slush, trying to pull himself into his tipped-over wheelchair.

If he weren't preoccupied with trying to get himself back into his chair, he'd flip the guy off. He probably _will _flip the guy off once he's seated again.

"Fucking winter. Fucking ramps. Fucking…"

"Dude, are you _okay_!?"

Arthur instantly recognises that voice and he feels his stomach sink down into the cold icy water that's currently freezing his fingers. Seriously, out of anybody who had to see him like this, why did it have to be _him_?

Alfred Jones, also known as the guy he's had a hopeless crush on since middle school, crouches down into sight. He has a worried expression on his too-handsome-to-be-legal face. "Are you hurt anywhere? Let me help you…" He stands and Arthur watches as he rights his chair and then seems to notice the asshole across the parking lot. For a moment, Alfred looks like he wants to go over and chew the guy out, but instead it looks like he takes a deep breath and then turns and flashes Arthur a smile that makes his heart flip like a dolphin performing tricks.

"You okay with me helping you up?"

Arthur could be totally suave right now; he could be witty and make a good impression on the guy that he'd been mooning over for forever.

Instead, he tosses his head and crosses his arms over his chest. "Won't be the first time somebody's helped me off my ass."

Alfred actually laughs, while Arthur internally beats himself over the head with a bat, and then moves behind him. "Okay, upsie-daisy!"

He slides his hands under Arthur's armpits and lifts and this is probably the closest Arthur will ever be to his crush, so he should savour every moment.

All he can think, though, is that this is probably the most embarrassing experience of his life and he really wishes that his chair would just sink into the ground with him in it.

Also, Alfred is surprisingly strong. He lifts him back into his chair without seeming to exert any extra energy and then walks to the front and settles his feet into their rests before charming him with another grin. "Your name's Arthur, right? I've seen you around before."

He really shouldn't feel any stupid chest butterflies right now; it's not surprising that Alfred would know his name. He's the only kid in their school in a wheelchair. Still, his traitorous heart ignores common sense and he feels his cheeks flush. "I…" He isn't sure what to say so he finally stammers out a "th—thanks," before he spins his chair back toward his van.

Alfred laughs his stupid obnoxious laugh that always carries down the hallways at school. "No problem! Any hero would help you out!"

Ah, yes, his little hero complex. It was well-known around school. Probably the only reason he'd stopped and helped him. Arthur can't help but feel a tint of bitterness seep into him, like the cold that had seeped through his clothing.

He might as well just go home now and change.

"Um," Except he's interrupted by a clearing throat. He turns his head and sees Alfred rubbing at the back of his head with one hand and—is he blushing? "I—My name's Alfred. I…are you doing anything later today?"

And for a moment, Arthur's pretty sure the cold has caused him to hallucinate. Maybe he's still lying in the middle of the parking lot and all of this is a dream.

He knows he's blushing now. "I—I don't have any specific plans." Besides working on homework, trying not to set the kitchen on fire again while making dinner, and maybe watching some Classic Doctor Who while his roommate was out with his girlfriend-of-the-week.

"Cause there's a basketball game tonight. My buddy's playing and I wondered if you might wanna go…"

The insane part of Arthur's brain unfortunately had control right now, as it blurted out, "Yes!" before he had a chance to actually _think_.

And Alfred beamed in response. "Great! Do you want me to pick you up at like five? We can go to McDonald's and then head over."

This is just too bizarre. Arthur's still half-convinced he's hallucinating. "That's fine. If my chair can fit in your car."

"My bro has a truck, no worries." Alfred grins again and then glances toward the ramp leading into his van. "You need help getting in?"

Definitely not. Although Arthur's half-panicked that he's going to fall again, just to add another helping of mortification. He shakes his head, though, and then rolls himself up the ramp and gets himself into the van, thankfully without incident, before turning his head. "I live at 1434 West Hickory Road. Bottom floor. If my roommate answers the door, tell him to piss off."

And he hurriedly closes the door at that, before he could say anything too stupid. For a moment, he just sits there and tries to calm his breathing. Then he turns and glances out the window.

To see Alfred turn and punch the air victoriously.

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><p>AN: Based on a true story that my cousin(-ish) told me. Her old van was a bastard who liked just randomly deciding to not work, so one day she got thrown out of her wheelchair because of Mr. Van and some asshole just stood across the parking lot watching her while she tried to get herself back into it. I don't think she had anyone swoop in to save her tho... Just some prick watching her and being unhelpful.


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